I do not wish for any sword
by Nimloth4
Summary: Frodo in the Battle of Bywater and its aftermath; can pity win a war?
1. Default Chapter

1. NOVEMBER THE THIRD, 1919 (S.R.): MORNING

A little before dawn, Frodo left the Cotton Farm quietly. He had no wish to disturb neither Sam nor the family. The previous day had been very hard and he foresaw so would be the forthcoming events. Everyone was in need of refreshment...

His thoughts went then to his cousins. Pippin had parted from them last afternoon, riding to Tookland to get reinforcements, and Merry was spending the night planning his strategy and organising the hobittry in anticipation of the clash with the Waymeet men.

Not only were the younger members of the Fellowship showing the courage and determination of seasoned warriors, but also magnificent leadership, that would make Aragorn himself proud. And this recollection put an affectionate spark in Frodo's eyes.

However, by the subtle light preceding sun-rise, Frodo felt a growing anxiety... He walked slowly, contemplating the fields, the hills, the copses that dimly emerged from the cold mist...the much cherished landscape of the Shire, that didn't show by there the scars of abuse inflicted by the Lotho´s ruffians. But, of course, there were deep hurts, invisible from this spot: felled trees, demolished houses, hobbits oppressed and put in jail...Wounds festering with fury, hate and fear. And he, too, was afraid. Not that he feared for himself, but for his beloved homeland.

He was aroused from his thoughts by the sound of hooves beating upon the road, and his eyes, that after the quest were too much able to see clearly in the dim light, distinguished a rider approaching by the Hobbiton road. He soon saw that it was Merry, and he moved away from the roadside. His grey frame melted immediately in the background.

When the pony almost overtook him, his voice rang out suddenly:

-What news from around, Rider of Rohan? – he said, smiling in memory of the tale of Aragorn and his companions meeting the Rohirrim.

-Frodo! – cried his cousin, surprised but skilfully halting his pony.-I thought you would be still enjoying old Cotton's hospitality.

In spite of his night of exhausting activity, Meriadoc overflowed with energy and determination. He updated Frodo on the preparations and added:

-The only thing I doubt is the timely arrival of Pippin with his people. If we don't show a clear superiority over these ruffians, I'm afraid we won't intimidate them, and the battle would be far harsher.

-But it's necessary to avoid more deaths, Merry! I don't want the Shire getting the infection of hate and revenge. It has been inflicted with too much suffering to endure also being blood-watered by us... - answered Frodo softly, focusing his clear sight in his cousin's.

Merry grew a little impatient.

-Dear Frodo, I know that you don't wish to kill anyone. But I will repeat what I said yesterday: you wont rescue our land just by being sad and sorry. These men are not going to loose the hold on their prey easily, so it will be necessary to fight. And, of course, I prefer the deaths to come from their ranks.

-Perhaps things must be so. But, Merry, you have the leader's responsibility in this matter, and I want your promise to keep your temper and hold your actions, until all possibility of a peaceful solution is spent. - Frodo's voice broke slightly, and he continued:

-I fear so much that neither the Shire could recover to health...

Meriadoc frowned a little, not understanding completely the Ringbearer words, but gave him a hug before resuming his ride, and said soberly:

-Don't worry, cousin. I promise you. Now, I must go to the other farms, but I will come back before ten hours, with the news.

When Frodo returned to the Cotton's, the family and Sam were already up and they shortly sat down to breakfast, everyone trying to hide their worry over the imminent confrontation. A courier arrived from Tookland at that moment, saying that the Thain had raised his country, and that Peregrin Took was coming back with a hundred of hobbits.

Finally, as he had promised previously, Meriadoc rode to the Cotton's Farm. The sun, faintly peeping out, shone on the steel of his helmet and lit the White Horse of Rohan on his tabard.

-The hour has come. The men of Waymeet and almost all the ruffians that escaped yesterday are heading to Bywater. The scouts told me that they are heavily armed and fire-raising as they come. Let's go stop them! – he said.

Tom Cotton, with grim face, and surrounded by his sons, that had collected axes, sickles and big knives, nodded:

-This lot is not going to heed reasons! It's clear that there will be a battle!

Quietly, the Ringbearer also prepared himself.

Sam brought the ponies over and, sighing, tightened Sting to his own waist. Then, he offered to Frodo the ancient blade of Westernesse, the one that he owned previously. But he already knew his master's answer:

-No, thank you, Sam. I'm not going to take a sword.

Samwise remembered then the terrible day in Mordor, when Frodo threw away all the orc arms he had and said: "I'll bear no weapon, fair or foul. Let them take me, if they will!...", and his eyes got blurred.

-But, Mr. Frodo - he insisted even though he lacked conviction - It will be dangerous. Maybe you'll need to defend yourself...

-Don't worry, dear friend. The mithril coat will be adequate protection, if necessary...- he answered with gentle stubbornness.

The group left to meet with the rest of volunteers from Hobbiton and Bywater. After a while, the Tooks also appeared, armed with bows and commanded by a young and bright-eyed Gondorian Guard, which was Pippin.

Then, Meriadoc made his final arrangements to improve his plans, taking into account the reinforcements of Tookland, and he ordered his small army to their positions, hiding in the hedges beside the road.

The only thing to do then was to lie in wait for them, silently, trying to calm down...

Shortly, the events began to speed up. A noisy hundred of men, armed with long knives, swords and spears, but looking undisciplined and clumsy, appeared by the bend of the road. The leader was a strong man, with a grim face crossed by a red scar, and an orcish look. The hobbits kept their peace until the first ruffians found in front of them a barrier that interrupted the way westward, and had to halt.

Pippin and a group of Tooks swiftly blocked the road in the east side, pushing up some hidden wagons, and stood behind, their bows ready for shooting.

Then Merry rose up above the bank and cried:

-You are trapped! Stop and lay down your weapons! Anyone trying to break out would be a dead man!

At his voice, all the contingent of hobbits stood up, the ruddy faces strangely menacing, and handing their arms.

The men looked around, astonished. Some of them got immediately frightened, and began to obey Merry. But the leader and those by his side burst out laughing with scorn...Since the ruffians had arrived in the Shire, they had never found an opposition worthy of the name. With very rare exceptions, the hobbits had allowed themselves to be intimidated, robbed and plundered with only feeble protests, some angry words or a badly coordinated resistance, easily quenched_... No one was going to snatch so tasteful a prey from them, even though some travelling gentlehobbits had pretensions of being great warriors and were organising a row._

-Don't be stupid, halflings! Give up immediately and surrender these stupid fighting roosters, these ridiculous leaders of you, if you don't want to be punished! – growled the scarred man, handling his sword menacingly, and addressing the rest of the hobbits.

The few men that before had showed the intention of giving up, took up their arms swiftly, shamed by their companions insults. Then, five or six of them, that were closer to the rear barrier, wildly shouting, threw themselves against the Tooks that defended it.

Pippin leapt onto one of the wagons in a single bound, and removing his elven cloak, took hold of the sword:

-Gondor and the Shire! – he cried, as the badge of the White Tower shone on the black of his uniform of the Guard of Minas Tirith.

His companions then shot a burst of arrows and some men fell, pierced by them, howling in pain. But the others continued their run, roaring with fury. Pippin dealt a stroke to the first of them, who tried to knock him down with a big mace. The man stared at him, a surprised look in the face, as the blood gushed out from his neck, and his body slowly slid to the ground. By both sides of Pippin's position, a few ruffians got past the barrier, killing the defendants on the way, and scattered across the country.

Soon, the fight spread out, and the road and the fields around echoed with the howls of the men pierced by the sure arrows of the Took archers, or wounded by the axes, knives and sickles of the Shire farmers, who never before had done bloodier things than the slaughter of livestock... And the cries came too from the hobbits hit by the spears and maces of their enemies.

It was the horrific din of fear, and pain, and death.

Then, some men, headed by the leader, ran over to the hobbits that fought in the western end. Even though Merry's strategy was making easy enough to dominate the ruffians trapped in the road, those that followed the half-orc were beginning to badly harass the hobbits. Seeing that his people flagged, Merry called to Pippin for aid and confronted them. And then, as the ruffians' leader himself, despite his corpulence and savagery, was mortally wounded by the young Brandybuck, the other men's only thought was of killing and dying like cornered beasts.

Not only were the hobbits' number superior, but they also benefited from better organisation, and the result of the battle was obvious. But the men were in despair, and driven mad, and unable to stop fighting.

Sam, the farmer Cotton and his sons defended their positions with quiet determination.

Beside them, at first, Frodo kept himself expectant. Then, his fears of a bloody combat were confirmed. And, when he observed some hobbits loosing control, because of the hate built up during the past months and the rage felt for their dead companions, the Ringbearer also threw himself into the skirmish, with empty hands, followed by Sam.

During these everlasting minutes, the undeniable authority of his pale and stern countenance was often interposed between the vengeance of his fellow countrymen and the defeated men. He protected these when they yielded their weapons, shielding them with his body. So, he received a good number of frustrated and furious glances from the warriors-like farmers and peasants. Frodo ignored these, but the scene froze Sam's heart.

At last, the battle finished and the only sounds in the muddy road were the moans of the wounded and dying.

Then, Merry and Pippin rushed towards them. The excitement of the battle was still shining in their faces, but their eyes showed infrequent seriousness and restraint.

Frodo, with his blood-stained clothes, and Sam, hugged them wordlessly.

-Are you all right? Are you not hurt? – the young Captains anxiously questioned their cousin.

-No. It's not my blood...- he answered tiredly. His face showed great distress and his eyes were fogged with unshed tears.

Merry looked down and mumbled:

-I'm sorry, dear Frodo. I couldn't avoid the killing... You could see that they didn't want to lay down the arms. It was us or them.

The Ringbearer nodded and embraced them one more time. Then, he said:

-I will take the prisoners to some secure place, with the help of Sam, and the Cottons, and maybe a few more hobbits... But it's necessary to calm down our folk...Merry, Pippin, can you look after them?

-We'll do it, Frodo. And also we'll arrange the tending of the wounded and the burial of the dead... - said Merry, looking around and sighing softly.

And a cold rain began to fall over the fields and the road, washing away the blood drenched mud.


	2. Chapter 2

My thanks to She-Wulf, for the beta-ing

2. NOVEMBER THE FOURTH, 1919 (S.R.): EARLY MORNING

As a shadow swimming in the shadows dropped by the cold light of the Autumn moon, Frodo's silhouette wandered next to the Water.

The Shire seemed immersed in a shivering silence. The other Travellers were all sleeping, exhausted: Sam, with his family, and the others, in the Cotton's Farm.

But Frodo no longer needed very much that kind of rest... It was among the many changes that the painful experiences of the last year had worked in him, for good or ill: that he obtained refreshment enough if he was surrounded by the breath of the trees and the water, under the light of the stars and the moon. And his sleep hours were scarce.

So, the Ringbearer slid along the river like the mist, and blended in the darkness when he stopped to watch the uncertain sparkling of the waves, draped in his grey cloak.

And this night, his heart was full of sorrow...It was as if again he bore a cruel weight, but a very different one than the overwhelming obsession of the Ring.

That one had left a strange hole in his soul, sometimes hurtful as a wound, sometimes bleak as an abandoned house. And in that hole was lost his ability to experience the intense joy of living of any hale hobbit...as if the everyday and homely pleasures were for others to enjoy, words spoken in a language that he could no longer understand well. However, this uninhabited inner space seemed to serve as a resonant body that enhanced Frodo's sensibility to the surrounding life, to their mysterious subtleties and to the feelings and emotions of friends and foes.

And so, the suffering from which he could not save hobbits and ruffians, the anger that contaminated the Shire and the vile deaths of Saruman and Gríma, drowned his spirit like a blood-tide, and submerged him in the ocean of guilt and hopelessness where, sometimes, he got wrecked.

He patiently let the familiar murmur of the river and the whispers of the wind in the naked poplars assuage his anguish, as the cool hand of a mother upon the feverish forehead of the child.

...After his return from Ithilien to the living people world, he had had to confront over and again the torture of his memories, and he had made a difficult covenant with them, thus obtaining an uneasy peace. He had come to terms, without pride nor shame, with his defeat in the Sammath Naur, realising that it had occurred only after fighting to his last limits. And, with some astonishment, he too got to understand that he had been granted the grace to be freed of the slavery of Evil: deeply hurt and with terrible consequences, but free and alive to watch the triumph of hope in Middle Earth.

Because of this, he didn't regret his own fate, but felt an irrepressible pity for all those that, like himself, had been corrupted, but had moved away from the reach of any salvation... Sméagol, Gríma, Saruman...and these wild and desperate men and half-orcs, excited in their greed by the revengeful destitute Wizard, until they were unable to choose other than kill or die.

Frodo breathed deeply the cold air of November, and the humid smell of the soil and fallen leaves soothed his sadness...

_To kill or to die_, he thought, _is a terrible choice, one from which nobody returns unscathed._

However, that choice no longer existed for him. He would nevermore handle a weapon. "I do not wish for any sword", he said to Gandalf in the Field of Cormallen, and it was only truth. Because, incomprehensibly, in the tower of Cirith Ungol and in the bleak plains of Gorgoroth; among the overwhelming terror and pain and with his mind devastated by the Ring of fire, a loathing to harm any kind of living being took shape inside of him, not even to defend himself.

And, after the destruction of the Ring, the conviction that he would never again take up arms to fight, only grew.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 (and last)

3. NOVEMBER THE FOURTH, 1419 (S.R.): DAWN

...Almost without taking notice, the night wandering of Frodo brought him near Bywater, in the last hour of darkness.

Then, with a start, he heard the explosion of strident screams, hoarse voices and blows. The loud noises came, without a doubt, from the large hut where the dozen of men that survived the battle were locked in the day before, waiting a decision about them. Frodo himself had dealt with the escorting and organising of a guard to keep them under vigilance and to care for their needs.

As the hobbit swiftly approached the place, he saw a rider that went at full gallop southwards and supposed that he headed for the Cotton Farm, looking for the Captains orders.

-Well, - murmured with a sigh – let's see what the matter is.

The stir had also woken up some of the neighbours and they, along with the three hobbits on duty, looked with furrowed brows and grim faces at the hut door, by the torchlight.

Inside the place howls sounded, and insults too. The wooden planks trembled with the blows, nearly falling down.

When Frodo spoke, everyone seemed frightened by his sudden appearance. It was as if he had mysteriously sprout up from nowhere, among the night shadows.

_Quite a nasty habit of the Baggins', to do that kind of thing... _- some hobbits thought.

-What is the trouble with the prisoners? – he asked, his pale features reflecting the moonlight.

-Ah, Mr. Frodo! – a guard answered – How lucky that you are here!... For some time past, these bandits are having a fit, howling like wild wolves. Looks like they are going crazy and I'm afraid they'll knock the door down!

-And how did it begin? – Frodo questioned, speaking louder in order to be heard in the redoubled din.

-They say that some of them are badly ill, and are asking for help and more food...As if we would be here to serve them; after all they did, stealing and imprisoning our people, and storming us yesterday! And if not for Captains Meriadoc and Peregrin... and for you, of course, Mr. Frodo, I don't know what would have happened! – exclaimed the guard with indignation.

Frodo was beginning to understand:

-But yesterday, when I brought them here, I gave instructions to get some healer to tend their wounds. Haven't any come? And have they not received food and water?

-No, sir! Jan Stoutoak and Jane Thymeplace have been too occupied with our own injured folks...And, besides, everyone is afraid of entering the hut. – added one of other of the hobbits on duty, grumbling irritably - ...Truly, they do not merit any care!

One of the neighbours that had came out because of the row, with a grim and angry face, assented:

-Maybe it would be better to get rid of them, burn the hut with everyone inside and solve so the problem once and for all!

The menace was heard by the prisoners, and the shouting increased:

-Murderers! You are worse than wargs! Open the door, we are dying in here! – they cried with desperation, as they assaulted the door and its hinges were beginning to get out of place.

Then Frodo raised his voice and said with authority:

-Be quiet, men! Stop trying to knock down the door and I will come in to speak with you!

All around, the hobbits protested, but he interrupted them and said, fixing them with a stern and sad stare:

-Someone once taught me never be too eager to deal out death in judgement, because it was not in my hand to give life... And that to decide who deserves to live or die is not for us. So, I think we have got more than enough talk about fire and revenge. Don't forget that hobbits never used to kill defenceless people... Now, -he added quietly – please, let me enter.

The prisoners had obeyed Frodo's orders and stopped their blows.

While two guards aimed their bows to the threshold and the other opened the door there was a tense silence. Inside the hut, bulks crowded around, the silhouettes dimly lighted by some oil lamps, and only the Ringbearer was able to distinguish the distorted and frightened faces of the men.

-Don't go into, Mr Frodo! – the guard insisted – They are in rage and will kill you!

-Nothing is going to happen to me, Rob... I've been in far worse places and I've come back – smiled reassuringly Frodo.

Notwithstanding his words, Frodo felt his heart beating swiftly as he crossed the threshold. He believed that he would be able to calm down these men, for which he felt a deep pity, fed by his own perception of fraternity with the fallen ones, but was well aware of the risks.

The door closed behind him. Firmly, he went to the centre of the dark place, and the prisoners surrounded him, tall and unnerving. In an angle of the room he saw three or four lying bodies and heard their moans and cries.

-I'm Frodo Baggins, one of the Travellers that lead the revolt of the Shire against you and your boss, Saruman, or Sharkey, as you named him.

After that, some menacing murmurs rose, but the hobbit continued quietly:

-You do fear for your lot... and with good reason, I would say, because you did harm gravely our land and our people. But we do not intend to let you die locked inside this hut. Even more, if you take an oath of leaving peacefully the Shire and never return, I will obtain your release.

-Are you not cheating us? ...And what about the wounded? – cried distrustful voices.

-No, I'm not cheating. And, yes, somehow I'll get a healer. Or I will tend them myself, since I've learnt something about healing lately. Also, I'll make sure that you receive enough food and water... Well, what is your answer?

After some minutes of silence, one of the men took a lamp from its hook on the wall, and approached it to Frodo.

-Let us see your face, halfling.

The prisoners scrutinized the hobbit's features, that conserved yet the marks of the hardship suffered in his quest. They could make out from them a strange sympathy and no intentions of deceit, and, at last, they accepted.

-All right, Frodo Baggins. Stand by your promises, because now we don't have anything to lose and we are decided not to die like rats.

Almost after these words, the door was opened ajar noisily and the dim light of the dawn illuminated the scene.

-Frodo! Are you safe and sound? – cried Merry and Pippin, swords in hand and fire in their eyes.

The men went back scared, because these halfling warriors, with brilliant helms and mail-coats, seemed imposing, in spite of their short height. But Frodo pushed his friends out, just like that.

-Nothing bad has happened – he smiled, secretly amused by his cousin's expressions.

The number of spectators had grown during that space of time, and everyone seemed surprised at seeing him exit unscathed. So, when Frodo gave instructions for treating the imprisoned ruffians adequately, no one protested. They looked at him with quite a reverential fear, harbouring some doubts, because _wasn't it strange that this Mr. Frodo had so good an understanding with the ruffians?_

When they were alone, Merry grumbled:

-Did you go insane, my dear cousin? It was sheer madness to go by yourself among those people! ... They are robbers and slayers; they could take you as a hostage, or take revenge on you because of their defeat!

And Pippin added, still looking a bit flushed:

-We came here at call to restrain the prisoners, but when we were told that you were inside, trying to calm them down, we got terribly frightened.

-Well, it was by chance that I wandered near this spot when the tumult began... - said Frodo slowly - , and I got involved in order to avert more bloodshed. By the way, I would like to free them as soon as possible, when the wounded ones are able to move. It would not be right to get our people out of the Lockholes and substitute them for other prisoners, would be?

The young Captains looked at him uncertainly:

-Do you trust them, Frodo?

The Ringbearer seemed thoughtful during a while, the eyes lost in the eastern horizon, where the rising of the sun was appearing with magnificence and, at last, he answered:

-I wouldn't risk not trusting. That, at least, is what I learnt in the last year: that the only way is to dare to confide...

The three of them stood still in silence a little time, until Pippin said, passing his arm over the shoulders of his eldest cousin:

-Dear Frodo, if you think so, I suppose it's right... And, now, if this matter is solved, what do you say about breakfast?

The other hobbits smiled their acquiescence, and Merry sighed, adding very softly:

-Please, Frodo, don't go away by paths along which we cannot follow you.

But Frodo did not answer.

THE END


End file.
